The Key of Life
by Kusari Etc
Summary: Saionji and Touga have a little duel and discussion. A hundred worder, set right before Episode 11, or so. (Perhaps I should go watch the tape again) PG for a little shounen-ai (yaoi) but nothing graphic.


            Mozart dabbling in a B major key. The Key of Life. And it was beautifully soothing. Joyous music poured from the strangled old stereo boxes. The final rapid up-note in the movement hit with each clear clash of a thin, vibratory foil. The two willowy figures with the slender weapons in the mock-duel moved in an androgynous waltz in their fencing uniforms. A back-and-forth that was more primal than any dance.

            Two passes, a parry and a thrust and one of the two were held by the throat at the blunt end of the foil. (Was it really capped or was that an actual sword?) The loser pushed back by another thrust forward and the point at his neck forced him to fall back into supplication on one knee.

            "Checkmate," a slick-satin voice reverberated from the dominating mask, the mesh not hiding the tone of bemusement of the echo of the large room. The helmet found its self removed by the free hand, glorious hair of crimson color spilling down, staining the perfectly white suit. Touga smiled a bit smugly as the scale climbed quickly from the mind of the great Maestro and the form in submission quivered with suppressed anger and the faint heaving of exertion of his chest.

            "Again, senpai," the cocked-and-ready-to-shoot voice beneath the helmet replied.

            "Of course 'again', Sai-on-ji!" Touga sing-sung mockingly along to the melody. His words that followed a flourish of the flute from the old record player. He tossed the helmet from his dueling partner and let the ringlets of emerald fall down around his frame as well, but kept the weapon ready at the open throat before him.

            "Even as Kendo Captain, you could never beat me," Touga said with his quirked 'I'm only half joking' smile, "Student Council President must be the pinnacle of all things."

            The younger student's lips curled back to snarl something about not patronizing him before he thought better of it. It was partially true, to say the least. Besides, he did not want to anger Touga again. Last time, his Council superior had been so disappointed in him, he hadn't come to spar in three weeks. Touga continued solemnly.

            "However, it is not solely I who can beat you any longer. Utena has had many an opportunity over you in recent days, if I am not mistaken." He fairly chuckled, holding his chin.

            "I will win the Rose Bride back to me!" Saionji declared, a blush of rage touching his smooth, white cheeks and simply setting off the high cheek bones and every other one of his lovely facial features. Touga smiled at the thought of how handsome that flush truly made him.

            "IT seems as though you will not, though."

            "Tenjou-san has had a massive fit of luck," the green-haired boy spat, "IT is only a matter of time before that runs out and skill triumphs again."

            Touga spread his lips in a feral, as he had a tendency of doing, and used a quick flick of his wrist to bring the youth's face to eye level. The gaze, after all, was about to burn a jealous flame into the floor.

 "Perhaps that is true," he said, whims and mystery weaving through his words, "Perhaps skill will win out. But… have you stopped to think that perhaps Dios has _chosen_ Utena?"

            The music held a note and dove head first into a beat-long silence as Saionji's eyes grew wide in shock, realization and anger. His mouth slacked a moment, rest on the cold mental point of the sharpened foil below it. The music began to trudge up a harmonious scale and rose in speed before climaxing as Touga grinned wickedly. He brushed back a lock of vibrant blood-red hair before laying a kiss on Saionji's cheek and lowering his sword. Swirling gracefully to face the door, he shivered inside to remember the look on his dueling partner's face.

            "Keep practicing, Saionji. You may just win back your dear Bride," he tossed half heartedly over his shoulder before he left like a ghost that had never been there at all. And Saionji was left alone with the mounds of confusion to bitterly work through as Mozart's B-major chords faded and echoed and died in the back ground.


End file.
